


Dirty Work

by kalena



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CIA won't do her goddamn job.  Casey's used to doing the dirty work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Work

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: thanks to [](http://jimpage363.livejournal.com/profile)[**jimpage363**](http://jimpage363.livejournal.com/) and [](http://aukestrel.livejournal.com/profile)[**aukestrel**](http://aukestrel.livejournal.com/)  
> 

Dirty Work

  
It was after midnight when he heard the knock. He was already in bed, having seen Chuck roll up, fully dressed, into a cocoon of blankets three hours ago. Pulling his gold kimono on over pajama bottoms, he didn't have to see the peep show to know who was there. The surveillance camera above his door told him that. So did the, "Casey, please, it's me, Chuck."

Without a, "Can I come in?" Chuck pushed past Casey into the still-dark living room. Casey was so surprised he didn't even think to slam the door on Chuck's bare foot.

Then Chuck stood there not saying anything, looking around like he could actually see the furniture, and wow, it was really interesting. Casey flipped on the light switch.

What was this ass doing in his apartment? Just because they were neighbors and Ellie invited him for Thanksgiving didn't mean they were friends. Hell, they weren't even co-workers. Bartowski was a job, except in the eyes of . . . Walker, maybe. Oh, yeah. Walker. The one who'd be a thousand miles away by the time Buy More opened, leaving Chuck to Casey's tender mercies.

No more cotton-candy Sarah daydreams for their precious asset. Plus he had to suck up five years of grief over the dickwad he couldn't quite retcon into a loyal friend. That explained the dark circles. He probably hadn't slept since Tuesday. The bullet in the chest hadn't done him any good either, Kevlar notwithstanding. He looked like fifty miles of Tajikistani supply road.

Well, there was no Pussy-Whipped Geeks Welcome sign on his door. Casey did wet work, not social work. Chuck would have to go cry on somebody else.

"Oh, quit whining." Casey tried moving him not-so-subtly back toward the door. He had enough physical presence to do it by size alone. Except . . . it didn't work very well when the mark wasn't paying any attention. No personal bubble tonight.

"I didn't say anything!"

Those hurt-animal eyes did something to Casey's face. He could feel the scowl twist out from the inside. "It's at a pitch only dogs can hear! If you're that bent out of shape about a fake romance, maybe you should try some real sex instead."

Chuck looked up, first startled out of his misery, then completely pissed. His lips pulled away from his teeth like he had something to say, but then he pressed them together, shook his head, and moved a little unsteadily toward the door. When Chuck turned to have the last word, no surprise, they were shoulder to shoulder.

"You, you know, you're such a -- "

He waited, narrow-eyed, radiating intimidation, knowing Chuck would be smart enough to back off. Casey could pierce his heart with a twist tie.

". . . fuck you. Just, fuck you."

Before Chuck could turn again, revolving door, Casey's hand was around the back of his neck, pulling. The soft little hairs there tickled the edge of his palm. Yeah, he thought vaguely. The tendons under his hand spasmed and the kid's whole body went rigid with fear.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah." His lips touched five o'clock shadow. "I was thinking."

He hadn't been thinking before, but he was now. Sex was the best way to keep an asset close. First lesson in unarmed combat. Safe, easy, almost infallible. But nobody at Spy Disney was taking that ride. Bartowski walked funny on occasion; easy to guess why. She was telling him their bosses said no. Like that stopped her from fucking Larkin. This was not the time or place for penance.

Sexy Susie CIA in the sack in her dainties, no skin time, must have sucked donkey dick.

She didn't even step up when their Intersect dated a civilian, for Christ's sake. As if Chuck's family and friends weren't a big enough threat. Walker had cojones, but he couldn't respect her vestal virgin act. Not when Chuck's safety depended on complete allegiance to both of them.

If Walker refused to do her job despite everything, she wasn't going to do it now. Why shouldn't he take action? He'd been trained by an expert. Probably the same one as Walker. And he'd whored himself out for less than the Intersect.

No way in hell would Casey let Chuck go to another handler. This was the best job he'd had in years, even if it came with a cover gig shittier than sweeping gutters in Calcutta. No Stealth bombers, but the way things were going, who knew when one would turn up? He'd cleared two years worth of global cases in a couple of months, there was plenty of target practice, and he got to sleep in clean sheets every night.

If he did this right, he'd have that mouth to look forward to. It wouldn't be his least favorite thing.

Bartowski had to be climbing the walls to get a little. He'd be humping his best friend if the guy wasn't such a rodent. Then again . . . considering that Bryce was the last best friend, maybe Chuck had been right to go with a little less competence and polish.

"Uh, Casey?" The inflection was definitely heading toward mutt territory.

 _Use the subject's name._

"Chuck." He tipped his head back far enough to stare into wary dark eyes, his voice half an octave more intimate.

 _Sympathize._

He began to rub the stiff neck under his palm. "It's been a tough couple days." Small words, for better comprehension in that too-full brain. Casey slid his other hand along the angle of Chuck's jaw. The tips of his fingers stroked back into the coarse, curly hair while his thumb caressed stubble. They could both hear it.

Straight military boys didn't want kisses. They wanted hand jobs and blow jobs and a good hard fuck. They weren't known, and sure as hell didn't want to become known, for their softer sides. Casey could field strip a man's gun in under thirty seconds if there was a time crunch. In his business, there often was.

This was different. Chuck would want to kiss first – at least he knew how. Casey'd seen him through the car window. There were no guarantees about anything else.

Chuck watched the thumb as best he could over his own cheekbone. "Do you – wait! Is this some kind of spy thing? You get me to reveal all by, uh . . ." He looked away and swallowed as Casey played with pillow-flat curls at the nape of his neck, and he cleared his throat, " . . . by subtle seduction?" His dry lips pressed together over a nervous giggle.

Casey smiled slow and pretty for the cause. Good boy, Bartowski. You're getting it now.

"I'm. Ah. Not, you know, gay," Chuck babbled. "Not that I have anything against gay! Some of my best friends – I mean, not Morgan, he's not gay, even though he acts like it some times, he's not twelve either and he acts like that all the time, but it's always been girls with me, so, like, if that matters at all to you -- "

"No." He whispered it, leaned in that last millimeter to brush his mouth over parted lips. "It doesn't matter." His arm slid down the back of Chuck's rumpled shirt, cinching their hips together. Chuck's body was vibrating like an electrified fence. If he didn't keep hold, the kid might jump out of his skin.

 _Get the subject to agree with you._

"Wouldn't it be nice just to relax, for once?"

"Yeah, yes, definitely, but I'm not sure – "

"Let it go. You'll sleep better." He rubbed at the ridges of muscle along the spine until they softened a little, even though Chuck had to feel Casey's dick getting hard. Silk was no camouflage for wood.

He hadn't once tried to knee Casey in the balls. This was going all the way. How long had it been? God, that hard body felt good against his. Not as skinny as he looked.

They were so close. Two bodies made more heat than one. Chuck was tall enough to look him right in the eye, to kiss without bending, to full-court press from knees to shoulders. He was making his decision. As passive as Chuck was -- straight boys always were – with his arms down along his sides, his hands were still clenched fists. Casey wasn't worried about that. Even men who threw a punch at him still wanted his talents, and Chuck couldn't punch out a paper doll.

Cupping the back of Chuck's head, he indulged in another light kiss. His lips moved against Chuck's as he spoke. "I'm here, and I'm offering. It's okay. Come on, take it." Casey scared the shit out of Chuck as often as possible, and that was good, but he should tone down the fear factor tonight. "Only what you want, I promise."

It wasn't what he said, it was the way he said it.

Chuck gave him that desperate look of determination Casey only saw in men's eyes before firefights. Then he kissed him. It wasn't just a kiss, it was a blast of that nerve-thrumming energy, the worry, anger and sadness he couldn't hold back any longer. Casey felt it all the way down his spine as his hard-drawn boundaries went up like flash powder.

It was a burn that could only be soothed by Chuck's cool mouth and its taste of green. Cucumber slices on ice with leaves of mint, fed to him on a hot Iranian night. Light and sweet. He didn't remember the woman who'd fucked him that night, but the taste of cucumber was in his mouth.

Was it real? How could he not know? He was kissing the mouth he noticed at odd moments, in strangely sexless ways – curled in a wry smile, pressed against an apple, maybe snarling at a broken computer. Chuck was very, very real. Fingers dug into his back to prove it. Long arms were tight around him, not nearly as wimpy as he thought they’d be.

The filthy noises they were making, the pull and shuffle, the sway to stay upright in their clinch brought him back to the top. Chuck couldn't know what he was doing. Nobody could learn to kiss like that. No sane person would want to pour every ounce of feeling he had into somebody else. In turn, Casey soaked it up like a sponge. He didn't mean to, didn't want to, but he'd been so dried out and empty for so many years that he couldn't help it. It hurt, he couldn't stand it, but he couldn't stop.

Chuck stopped. They broke apart and Chuck's eyes widened, as if he only now understood what he was doing and who he was with. "Oh, God," he gasped, and whispered, "You don't even like me."

Casey took a deep, shaky breath. He used every bit of concentration to control his pulse, his respiration, or any damned thing at all. "I like you." It came out so easy, it could have been the truth. He wanted to cannonball into Chuck's free-flowing emotion. It was a life he never had, or at least one he couldn't remember ever having. He wanted to drink it up. Bathe in it and scrub himself clean. Or maybe run like hell.

He reached out, grabbing the placket of Chuck's shirt instead, because he couldn't say _please_. "You're. You're good. You'll do anything if you think it's the right thing to do. That's . . . I don't know what that is." Casey was strangling on his own fear. After twenty years of killing, he was breaking into pieces. Or maybe the pieces were breaking him. Broken men died easy. They took their teams down, too. His voice sounded strange and thin. "Quit it."

"I can't." The corners of Chuck's mouth were turning up, hinting at the sweetness that hid inside it. "It's what you would do." He leaned in closer. There was the warmth.

"I get paid, you dumbshit." That smell. He sniffed sharply. "What were you drinking?"

"What? Nothing!" Chuck almost warbled as he swayed away. "Is that what this is about? Have you been drinking? Are you drunk? Have you been – poisoned? Oh, crap, what are we going to do?"

Casey pulled him in by the shirt before he could fall on his ass. Suddenly he felt almost normal. He had the knife's edge back, and it made itself known. "What. Were. You. Drinking?"

Chuck shook his head, hands up. "I, I had -- a bottle of Sobe before I came over! Awesome left it on the counter and it was the only thing around and I was, you know, thirsty and I took it, I'll apologize . . . "

Casey wasn't listening.

He wasn't crazy. He wasn't one of those broken men.

A roar of victory rose in his chest, but he shoved it back down. He'd save that good feeling for later, when bad things happened, because they were going to. One fine day he would be ordered to execute this very pretty young man in the name of Kenny Chesney, Burger King, and Lifetime TV. Until then, he was going to protect him any way he could.

Dirty hands weren't what he had, they were what he was.

The next kiss was not the same as the first one. Good. Another one of those and he'd self-destruct. Still, Chuck was a soulful kisser who really got into it once he warmed up a little. Kissing government hit men was probably a new thing. He had a lot to get used to these days. At least this would feel good. Casey nuzzled bedhair away from an ear and let his lips play along the edge. Chuck gripped his biceps hard and let out a surprised huff. Nerds had very sensitive ears.

Necks, too. Chuck wore some kind of cheap cologne; he'd have to get rid of it. Ten to one Ellie bought it for him. No, wait. She'd have better taste. It got up his nose, but at least the scent had faded enough not to make Casey sneeze. Casey snorted to himself at the idea of getting Chuck something decent for Christmas. He bit carefully into the soft skin, leaving no marks. Below tie level, he felt free to suck hard along hollows above a prominent collarbone. His smile widened as a swipe of his tongue made Chuck whimper.

Cool. Casey prided himself on doing good work. Then Chuck sputtered out a laugh.

That was when the world as Casey knew it exploded.

A napalm of rage showered the countryside, laying waste to cities and towns, poisoning the water and obliterating the sky. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. _you worthless little fuck how dare you I'll kill you kill_

"Casey? Are you okay?"

It took long seconds for the next intel to filter through to the forebrain _it's not that kind of laugh_ but by that time a gallon of epinephrine had flooded his body. The backwash was so intense he went to his knees. He'd have broken both of them on the goddamn quarry tile if not for his death grip on Chuck's belt loops. He leaned his cheek against Chuck's bare hipbone and gulped oxygen. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The reaction was worse than after his first kill.

"Ow! Ah. Ah, you, what are you . . ."

Casey opened his eyes and saw what he was puffing warm air onto . . . and inhaling the warm, vaguely musky fragrance of. Chuck should wear the scent behind his ears. It sure beat shitty cologne. He wasn't wearing any underwear. The shaft of his hard-on was visible two millimeters above the waistband. The waistband that Casey's weight had pulled down far enough to get Chuck arrested, even on Hollywood Boulevard. Whoa.

Nice.

". . .because you don't have to, it's okay! Really! Look, Ellie's going to be worried about me if she sees I'm not at home, she knew when I went to bed. I'm totally relaxed now, I swear, this isn't . . . "

Huh. What were the chances? Could a decent-looking guy like Chuck make it through college without ever getting a blowjob?

Oh, Christ, it shouldn't be so hot to know he could do things nobody had ever done before. Nasty, nice things. Things that would turn Chuck inside out. Good thing Casey wasn't wearing any underwear, either. His dick was so hard it might break under the strain. As it was, the slippery weave of his pajamas felt way too good.

Chuck was staring down at him without blinking, audibly mouth-breathing. Good to know he could pay attention when it was truly called for. Casey snickered, shrugged, and said, "Well, I guess it ain't gonna suck itself."

Casey flipped the button open with his thumb, slid down the zipper, and wrapped his hand around that long, beautiful cock. Long time no see, sweet thing. He gave it a kiss on the head for luck, and since he already got lucky, he kissed it again. His lips parted over it, letting teeth and tongue go to work. A tiny little scrape or two always woke up the natives, and he knew how to ease the pain.

Chuck's jeans were still mostly on and his legs were spread for balance, so Casey couldn't get a hand in. Instead he grabbed that firm ass and hung on to it by the handful as he swallowed down his prize. In a heartbeat Chuck was bent almost double, fingers clawing into Casey's shoulders, wailing and panting. It was the same thing he did when he got shot at. Sex and violence dovetailed so well.

He was working it all the way down, balls to chin, but Chuck was not taking the hint. He didn't want to fuck Casey's mouth? Was anybody really that nice? Or maybe he didn't even get it. Casey pulled away, curling his fist along that big gun and twisting up and down. His voice was gritty. "Fuck me."

"Wha -- what?"

"You heard me, sport. Let's see what you've got." He put his lips on the soft head again. That was the end of it. Chuck jerked once, twice, and again as he shuddered his way through what looked like a blinding orgasm. Casey spat the jizz onto the floor, shoved himself up, and caught Chuck before he folded to the tile. Good thing the wall was convenient.

He leaned a limp and gasping Chuck up against the wall with his body, giving in to the temptation to push hair off the sweaty forehead. It was kind of nice to be next to another human being.

Too soon, Chuck’s brain cells kicked in. "Casey, let me . . . I could do something for you."

Jesus, he wanted it. Wanted it bad. He could taste it like he could taste Chuck's shot. He licked his teeth. He could get Chuck to blow him. He'd do it, probably do anything right now if Casey asked. Or . . . a hand job would be good. Chuck had big hands and long, strong fingers, but he had a careful touch that could do mysterious things. Yeah, those hands -- any place, any time.

When one of those hands fumbled at his ass, he knew the time had to be later. It was too soon. He could wait. Chuck would be scared tomorrow, scared and worried that he was a faggot, but he'd be curious, too. With his idiotic fairness, he'd feel guilty, like he owed Casey, and wasn't that a trip? Then Chuck would think about what it'd be like. He'd get them both off in his imagination. Then he'd do it in real life.

Next time. He'd be so ready next time.

Casey clasped the hand gently and brought it up to his chest as he pulled Chuck in for a deep, soothing kiss. It didn't soothe Casey any, but nothing would until he blew his load. He did up the jeans and buttoned the shirt, but left it untucked to cover any wet spots. With an arm around his still-wobbly mark, Casey moved to the door, helping him navigate the sill. No sense in a broken leg when things were getting good.

"Casey, you, I. What do we . . . what does . . ."

"It's okay, Chuck. We're good. It's all good." He played through with a man-hug. "You'll feel a lot better in the morning. I promise."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah."

 _Repeat the subject's words._

"Go ahead. Ellie'll be worried if you're not there."

Ellie wouldn't be up at this hour. She was working the morning shift. If she woke up now, she'd sure as hell wonder who sexed up baby bro, though. There was no way she could miss it. The swollen mouth, messy clothes – okay, maybe that wouldn't twig her, but Chuck had a glazed look that sang in the Got Some choir. It'd be better to have him stay over, but it would be awkward in the morning. And Casey couldn't wait another millisecond to jerk off.

"Sure. See you tomorrow, 'kay."

"Sure, see you tomorrow, Chuck. Take it easy."

Son of a bitch. Tomorrow was another Buy More Saturday. He shook his head, more aware than ever of his aching cock.

Leaning on the inside door, Casey groaned as he finally, finally reached for his own weapon. The fly of his pajamas was wet and sticky, so he just yanked the waistband over his dick and let the pants drop. His own hand wasn't much of a substitute for sliding hot and hard in the crease of Chuck's ass, but that would come. He cradled his dick in his palm, thumbing the head.

Oh, yeah, Chuck would touch him. Just like this. Casey tightened his grip, then began to jack himself. Slow and easy at first, then faster. Chuck would return the favor, if nothing else. He'd suck. Lick. Bend over. He needed the affection, the kindness, the sex. It was all good. Casey wouldn't push. No demands. Chuck would come to him, and he'd get what he wanted. All he had to do was wait.

One last hard pull and that was it. Oh, hell yeah. He sank down to the cold tile, his kimono bunching up behind him along the doorframe.

Chuck would flip his shit for a day or two, a week at the outside, but he'd be back.

John Casey knew straight boys. They always came back. They didn't talk about it, but they did it. And when they did, they let Casey fuck them. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Wiping the flat of his stomach clean with the pants, he dropped them and the kimono and walked to the bedroom. It was a long walk. He'd never felt so drained after getting off. There wasn't enough whitewash in Los Angeles to cover the truth: he was all over the board tonight. He couldn't remember the last time his head was such a shitstorm. The positive outcome was sheer luck, no thanks to Casey's control.

It wasn't about sex. Mindfuck was the name of this game. He didn't know how or why, but this time he was on the receiving end.

Casey fell asleep still wondering what the fuck just happened.

[Dirty Work II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/186038)


End file.
